


Safe

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because that means something different for everyone. 5 Hunger Games characters and what it means to them. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that I wrote ages ago. This focuses on Haymitch, Katniss, Finnick, Rue and Peeta.

I: Haymitch

‘ “Good and safe,” I say as I pass under its branch. “We don’t have to worry about her now.” Good and safe.’  
-The Hunger Games, Page 235

  


He’s never felt quite safe in the world. Even as a child, before the games, he was paranoid as hell. He was quite the rebel, at such a young age. Spewing rants about the horrors of the Capitol everywhere. His mother quickly taught him otherwise, but he still thought the same things. He dreamt of a world without the Capitol. Thought that it would be ideal.  
  
How naïve he was. Later on he found that there are worse horrors than the Capitol.  
Entering the games, he knew he could win. He was brilliant and he knew it. He knew it would be hard, but he thought his reward would be worth it. He’s never been against killing someone to protect oneself. To protect what one values.  
  
He never got the chance.  
  
When he got back he found them all dead. Like watching Maysilee die didn’t wreck his sleep pattern enough.  
He felt so stupid. How could he ever be so selfish? So thoughtless. So damn stupid. So what if he won the games? He was still a lowly district habitant. His family—his girl—so disposable. So fragile.  
  
It broke him. He wanted to hide. Wanted to go somewhere that the Capitol couldn’t reach. But that wasn’t possible.  
He was determined to be himself. To always be sane, to never be an embarrassment in public. But he couldn’t help it. It was hard watching 2 people he knew die every year. Even though he has only known them for 2 weeks.  
  
One time and he was hooked. It was so much easier to just hide from the world. He tried to stop. Many times he almost did. But he didn’t really want to. He just wanted to pass out and never wake up. And that made it that much harder.  
  
When he finally met them, all he felt was desperation. He’d become so attached, much more than usual in those 2 weeks. The girl was like him. The boy had a way with words. They were the perfect pair of rebels. When they won, he was so happy, so elated that he actually stayed sober for a while. He actually had something to be happy about.  
  
He almost forgot the danger they were in. Almost. He wondered why the girl was surprised.  
  
After a 24-year dry spell, he finally has people who care about him. And the feeling is actually mutual. It surprises him. But now the Capitol has something to use against him again. He hopes they don’t die in his lifetime.  
  
His tributes sleep together, not because they’re actually in love (well, the boy is), but because they need something to ward off the nightmares. He has nobody. He doesn’t really want anybody. Those whose company he craves are already long gone. He wishes he were with them. No one else would understand. Each game was different, after all.  
  
His dreams are filled with streaks of blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful flowers, pink birds with sharp beaks…after a while all the images start to blur together. And when he wakes, he grasps his knife as if he could defend himself. He just wants everything to end. He remembers every single one of the tributes that died in that arena. Their faces taunt him in his dreams. Sometimes he wonders if it would have been better if he had died. It was the easiest way to escape.  
He knows he can’t kill himself. He owes it to all the tributes that have perished. Because they didn’t have a choice. And he does.  
But all he wants to do is die so he can finally be safe.

  


II: Katniss  
“Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. A visit with my father in the woods. An hour of sunlight and cake with Prim.”  
-The Hunger Games, Page 236

  


She dreads falling asleep every night. And with her past, it’s not exactly surprising. It was worse in the beginning. She would wake, gasping, with tangled sheets around her. But after a while, it got bearable. Especially after her blonde haired hero came back. It was easier to feel safe with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.  
  
At first, she didn’t know what to do. In fact, she spent most of her days in a half conscious state, just rocking back and forth, staring at the fire. She eventually woke up from her state and actually fell asleep in a bed. And that was when the nightmares started.  
Her screams woke herself up every night. She knew her grumpy neighbor could hear her, but she didn’t blame him for not coming to her aid. He had his own horrors to battle against, after all.  
  
After a while, she got used to the routine. Wake up, eat, hunt, eat, do something, eat, fall asleep, distorted pictures, scream, wake up. Everyday. She took some comfort that it was just dreams. There she knew that if she screamed, she could escape. In reality, if she screamed, nothing happened. She was always escaping. Trying to hide from reality. She found that it was better that way.  
  
She longs for the days when she was younger. When her father was still alive. When his strong comforting hands could just brush her fears away and make her feel like nothing could ever hurt her. She wished she were still naïve. Maybe then she could actually be happy.  
  
Every night she falls asleep, she guesses whether she’ll get a happy, peaceful, sunlight dream, or if she’ll have to watch Finnick get decapitated again. She hopes for the former, but either works for her. They’re just dreams after all. The funny thing is, she’s never the one being hurt in her dreams. She’s safe (or at least that’s what she tells herself). But she’s never been one to care about her own safety. The face she sees being distorted the most in her dreams is one that is still alive and well (not really, but she hopes). When he comes back, those dreams are a rare occurrence. Because she can just look beside her and know that he’s fine.  
  
Happy, pointless dreams start occurring more than the horrifying ones (though when they do come, they’re as horror filled as ever). One day, she dreams of a beautiful place, and she sees all those who died by the hand of the Capitol. She sees them dancing and playing, all worries gone. They aren’t pleading for her to help them because they don’t need help. It’s then that she finally lets go and allows Peeta’s arms make her feel as safe as her father’s did. And yet in a completely different way. 

  


III: Finnick  
It's like watching some strange sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy even to watch.”  
–Catching Fire, Page 389

  


The term “home” was incredibly important to Finnick. He was in the Capitol so much, almost more than he was in District 4, that he was afraid that he would suddenly start calling that home. The idea repulsed him more than having to relive his games.  
  
Every day that he was in the Capitol, he reminded himself of what home was. The smell of salt in the air, the glitter of the fish, the wind tousling his hair, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the cool water touching his toes. Water was what reminded him the most of his home. He was so comfortable in the water; it was his second home. He has been told many times that he swims like a fish. He feels like one. Slimy and cold.  
  
He feels awful, acting the way he does. It isn’t him; those who knew him when he was younger know that it’s just a façade. But he wonders how long that will last. He has to put on his mask practically all the time. He fears that it will actually become his character. It slips on so naturally now; he hardly notices the difference.  
As soon as he dunks his head under water—salt water he finds in District 4, not that shit that the Capitol calls water—he finds himself. He has so many memories, memories of what made him Finnick. He wrote his first poem (which was about the ocean, actually) on the sandy shore. His late father taught him so many life lessons that he would always remember right there, with the sun beating down on their backs and the sand getting stuck between his toes. He met Annie right there in the water.  
  
They were 8. He’d seen her around town many times before, but he’d never spoken to her. He had been extremely shy as a child, especially around girls. He grew out of that as soon as he realized how attractive he truly was. He had always thought that she was lovely, but seeing her hair reflect the sun in the way that he saw that day made him have enough courage to dive into the water and swim towards her. They’d seen each other before, but never once had one of them approached the other. She swam like she was born in the sea. She looked glorious, the light reflecting off the beads of water sticking to her pale skin.  
  
Every morning after that they woke up and swam together in the ocean, chasing each other on the beach or just enjoying the sun. They had a competition going on for a while seeing who could reach their meeting area first. She always won.  
  
Water connected him to Annie. Water was Finnick’s friend. It brought Annie back to him, even though it was his fault she was in the games, his fault that he had screwed up so badly. Angered the Capitol. He loved her so much. And even though she came back different, damaged, he didn’t care (she was still his Annie).  
  
He always imagined that when he died, he would be cremated and his ashes would be spread in the ocean. Then he would always be where he belonged, where he felt untouched and safe. Because water has never been his enemy. It has aided him throughout his life. And when he dunks his head under, he feels like Finnick. Not Finnick Odair. And then he’s not scared anymore.

  


IV: Rue  
“There’s a rustling in a nearby tree. Then the same noise again a bit farther off. I realize she’s leaping from tree to tree.”  
-The Hunger Games, Page 188

  


She’s never trusted the ground, not since she fell and broke her arm when she was 6. But unlike most children, she blamed the ground, not the tree. She’s never been afraid of heights.  
  
She had so many siblings. She was just one of many. Being the eldest didn’t make her anything special. It was just a burden. She had to be the role model, the one that her siblings looked up to. Her parents were always too busy. Sometimes she resented them for not spending more time with her and her 5 younger siblings, but she knew that they had to work in order to keep the family alive. She wanted to be the shining hero to her siblings, but she really didn’t know how. She still hadn’t met her hero yet.  
  
She loved harvest time. She felt so useful, someone worth looking up to. Though she was working, she always felt the freest during those times. She heard the leaves were whispering to her, telling her secrets. They were her friends. She felt like a bird, whisking through the branches. She would sing a lot, along with the rest of her harvest friends. And the birds, of course. Their voices were beautiful. She sometimes pretended that her voice was too.  
  
She knew she would die when she was reaped. But she wouldn’t give up. Never. She finally had a chance to be the shining hero her siblings made her out to be.  
She never thought that her skills with “flying” would be useful. But it was really the only thing she was good at. So she showed the evil men. They did determine her life, after all. When she received her training score, she sang like a bird.  
  
In the arena, her strategy wasn’t hard to think of. She was the lightest there, so if she stayed out of reach, she couldn’t be killed. So stay off the ground. Easy. The games were exactly how she thought they would be. Bloody, brutal, hard. But she hadn’t expected to find her hero (heroine, actually) there.  
  
She first saw the black haired girl with cold grey eyes on the screen of the TV, when she was on the train. She committed her name to memory; she didn’t really have to try, it just kind of stuck there. She spied on her in the training center. There was nothing else she could do, after all. Three days was not going to be enough for her to learn how to use a lethal weapon. Everything else she already knew how to do. So she followed her soon to be heroine around, trying not to get noticed. But after a while, Rue noticed her spying back. She smiled.  
  
When she was finally in the games, she stuck to the trees. She only came down to get water. She had to stay hidden, or else she knew she was a goner. She tried not to think of that too often. It was because she stayed in the trees that she could help her heroine, Katniss. It was there that she caught a glimpse of the pin that made her help her. A mockingjay.  
  
She was absolutely thrilled when Katniss asked her to be her ally. The only downside was that she couldn’t travel through her safe haven. But, at least she could sleep there.  
  
When she got caught in that damn net, she knew she was going to die. But, at least she knew that there was still one thing that she could count on when she went to her afterlife or wherever people went after they died. It was the ground that failed her again, not the trees. 

  


V: Peeta  
“As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.”  
-The Hunger Games, Pages 294-295

  


He didn’t know what being safe meant. He was always in danger, however minor, when he was young. His mother was a selfish witch, as Katniss called her. She didn’t care for him, always beating him when he did something wrong. Didn’t she know that children could only learn by making mistakes? Didn’t she ever make one? Apparently not.  
  
He had always been extremely careful, so cautious. One misstep and he had a flaming cheek with a bright red mark and a black eye to top it off. It wasn’t uncommon; beating children was just a way to control them, to make sure that they didn’t do stupid things that cost the family to be hungry for a month. He understood his mother’s intentions in a way, but he would have used different methods.  
  
His father was a pushover. Quite kind, but what did it matter if he didn’t act on his kindness? His mother was truly the queen of the household. His father was the king, but like in most fairytales, the queen overruled the king. And was really quite horrible.  
  
And those were just his earlier years. Once he was reaped into the games, his nightmares were filled with winning and then finding out that he had killed his raven-haired princess. He didn’t dare to fall asleep again after that, even though he knew that he would be long dead before he could even lay a finger on her.  
It’s not until those nights in that cave, with Katniss curled up against him, that he feels something that he can sort of identify as the feeling of being “safe”. He’s not quite sure, but he likes it and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy, not to sound too cliché. In a way, in that arena, cramped together in a stuffy dark cave, those some of the happiest moments in Peeta’s life. A year and a bit after these moments were his worst.  
  
He was so damn lost, didn’t know who he was. He craved that feeling that he felt in the cave, but though he tried so hard to summon it back, he couldn’t. Even though he needed it the most right then. When he was shipped off to Katniss and went on the run with her, he felt a little glimmer of it again. But as soon as he noticed, it was gone. When she killed the president, he couldn’t allow her to kill herself. Maybe it was the old Peeta coming back for a visit that triggered his actions. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to stop her from swallowing that pill and preventing him from ever feeling that euphoric feeling again. He didn’t see how it mattered though; she left anyway.  
  
When he finally came back, after being declared “stable” by Doctor Aurelius, he saw her again. And his heart lifted. He felt that feeling again. But, it wasn’t until almost a year later, with her curled up in his arms and the feeling of soft white sheets rubbing against his bare skin, that Peeta felt that he finally understood what being safe meant.


End file.
